_Seems to demand, for more reasons than one, a greater share of
attention than ordinary, in the perusal of it_
The fair wife of Mr. Munden (Miss Betsy now no more) had promised
nothing at the altar that she was not resolved religiously to perform:
she began seriously to consider on the duties of her place; she was
ignorant of no part of them; and soon became fully convinced that on a
strict observation of them depended her honour--her reputation--her
peace of mind--and, in fine, all that was dear to a woman of virtue and
understanding.
To give the more weight to these reflections, she also called to her
mind the long perseverance of Mr. Munden--his constant assiduities to
please her--his patient submitting to all the little caprices of her
humour; and establishing in herself an assured belief of the ardour and
sincerity of his affection to her, her gratitude, her good-nature, and
good-sense, much more than compensated for the want of inclination; and
without any of those languishments, those violent emotions, which bear
the name of love, rendered her capable of giving more real and more
valuable proofs of that passion than are sometimes to be found among
those who profess themselves, and are looked upon by the world, as the
most fond wives.
In spite of her endeavours, the thoughts of Mr. Trueworth would,
however, sometimes come into her mind; but she repelled them with all
her might: and as the merits of that gentleman would, in reality, admit
of no comparison with any thing that Mr. Munden had to boast of, she
laboured to overbalance the perfections of the one, by that tender and
passionate affection with which she flattered herself she now was, and
always would be, regarded by the other.
Thus happily disposed to make the bonds she had entered into easy to
herself, and perfectly agreeable to the person with whom she was
engaged, he had, indeed, a treasure in her beyond what he could ever
have imagined, or her friends, from her former behaviour, had any reason
to have expected; and, had he been truly sensible of the value of the
jewel he possessed, he would have certainly been compleatly blessed: but
happiness is not in the power of every one to enjoy, though Heaven and
fortune deny nothing to their wishes. But of this hereafter.
At present, all was joy and transport on the side of the bridegroom--all
complaisance and sweetness on that of the bride. Their whole deportment
to each other was such as gave the most promising expectations of a
lasting harmony between them, and gladdened the hearts of as many as saw
it, and interested themselves in the felicity of either of them.
They continued but a few days in the retirement which had been made
choice of for the consummation of their nuptials, Mr. Munden was
naturally gay, loved company, and all the modish diversions of the
times; and his wife, who, as the whole course of this history has shewn,
had been always fond of them to an excess, and whose humour, in this
point, was very little altered by the change of her condition, readily
embraced the first proposal he made of returning to town, believing she
should now have courage enough to appear in publick, without testifying
any of that shamefacedness on account of her marriage, which she knew
would subject her to the ridicule of those of her acquaintance who had a
greater share of assurance.
For a time, this new-married pair seemed to have no other thing in view
than pleasure. Mr. Munden had a numerous acquaintance--his wife not a
few. Giving and receiving entertainments, as yet, engrossed their whole
attention--each smiling hour brought with it some fresh matter for
satisfaction; and all was chearful, gay, and jocund.
But this was a golden dream, which could not be expected to be of any
long continuance. The gaudy scene vanished at once, and soon a darkening
gloom overspread the late enchanting prospects. Mr. Munden's fortune
could not support these constant expences. He was obliged to retrench
somewhere; and, not being of a humour to deny himself any of those
amusements he was accustomed to abroad, he became excessively
parsimonious at home, insomuch that the scanty allowance she received
from him for housekeeping, would scarcely furnish out a table fit for a
gentleman of an estate far inferior to that he was in possession of, to
sit down to himself; much less to ask any friend who should casually
come in to visit him, to partake of.
Nothing can be more galling to a woman of any spirit, than to see
herself at the head of a family without sufficient means to support her
character as such in a handsome manner. The fair subject of this history
had too much generosity, and, indeed, too much pride, in her
composition, to endure that there should be any want in so necessary an
article of life; and, as often as she found occasion, would have
recourse for a supply to her own little purse.
But this was a way of going on which could not last long. She complained
of it to Mr. Munden; but, though the remonstrances she made him were
couched in the most gentle terms that could be, he could not forbear
testifying a good deal of displeasure on hearing them. He told her that
he feared she was a bad oeconomist; and that, as she was a wife, she
ought to understand that it was one of the main duties of her place to
be frugal of her husband's money, and be content with such things as
were suitable to his circumstances.
The surly look with which these words were accompanied, as well as the
words themselves, made her easily perceive, that all the mighty passion
he had pretended to have had for her, while in the days of courtship,
was too weak to enable him to bear the least contradiction from her now
he became a husband.
She restrained, however, that resentment which so unexpected a discovery
of his temper had inspired her with, from breaking into any violent
expressions; and only mildly answered, that she should always be far
from desiring any which would be of real prejudice to his circumstances;
but added, that she was too well acquainted with his fortune, not to be
well assured it would admit of keeping a table much more agreeable to
the rank he held in life, and the figure he made in other things.
'I am the best judge of that,' replied he, a little disdainfully; 'and
also, that it is owing to your own want of management that my table is
so ill supplied. I would wish you, therefore, to contrive better for the
future; as you may depend upon it that, unless my affairs take a better
turn, I shall not be persuaded to make any addition to my domestick
expences.'
'I could wish then, Sir,' cried she, with a little more warmth, 'that
henceforth you would be your own purveyor; for I confess myself utterly
unable to maintain a family like ours on the niggard stipend you have
allotted for that purpose.'
'No, really, Madam,' answered he, very churlishly, 'I did not marry in
order to make myself acquainted with how the markets go, and become
learned in the prices of beef and mutton. I always looked on that as the
province of a wife; it is enough for me to discharge all reasonable
demands on that score: and, since you provoke me to it, I must tell you,
Madam,' continued he, 'that what my table wants of being compleat, is
robbed from it by the idle superfluities you women are so fond of, and
with which, I think, I ought to have no manner of concern.'
As she was not able to comprehend the meaning of these words, she was
extremely astonished at them; and, in a pretty hasty manner, demanded a
detail of those superfluities he accused her of: on which, throwing
himself back in his chair, and looking on her with the most careless and
indifferent air he could assume, he replied in these terms.
'I know not,' said he, 'what fool it was that first introduced the
article of pin-money into marriage-writings. Nothing, certainly, is more
idle; since a woman ought to have nothing apart from her husband; but,
as it is grown into a custom, and I have condescended to comply with it,
you should, I think, of your own accord, and without giving me the
trouble of reminding you of it, convert some part of it, at least, to
such uses as might ease me of a burden I have, indeed, no kind of reason
to be loaded with. As, for example,' continued he, 'coffee, tea,
chocolate, with all the appendages belonging to them, have no business
to be enrolled in the list of housekeeping expences, and consequently
not to be taken out of what I allow you for that purpose.'
Here he gave over speaking; but the consternation his wife was in
preventing her from making any immediate answer, he resumed his
discourse. 'Since we are upon this topick, my dear,' said he, 'it will
be the best to tell you at once what I expect from you--it is but one
thing more--which is this. You have a man entirely to yourself; I am
willing he should eat with the family; but as to his livery and wages, I
think it highly reasonable you should be at the charge of.'
The innate rage which, during the whole time he had been talking,
swelled her breast to almost bursting, would now no longer be confined.
'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'to what have I reduced myself!--Is this to
be a wife!--Is this the state of wedlock!--Call it rather an Egyptian
bondage!--The cruel task-masters of the Israelites could exact no more.
Ungrateful man! pursued she, bursting into tears, 'is this the love, the
tenderness, you vowed?'
Overwhelmed with passion, she was capable of uttering no more; but
continued walking about the room in a disordered motion, and all the
tokens of the most outrageous grief and anger. He sat silent for some
time; but, at last, looking somewhat more kindly on her than he had
done--'Pr'ythee, my dear,' said he, 'don't let me see you give way to
emotions so unbecoming of yourself, and so unjust to me. You shall have
no occasion to complain of my want of love and tenderness--you know what
my expectations are; and when once I have gained my point, you may be
sure, for my own sake, I shall do every thing suitable to it. I would
only have you behave with a little prudence for the present.'
In concluding these words, he rose and took hold of her hand; but
approached her with an air so cold and indifferent, as was far from
atoning, with a woman of her penetration, for the unkindness of his late
proposal. 'No, Mr. Munden!' cried she, haughtily turning from him, 'do
not imagine I am so weak as to expect, after what you have said, any
thing but ill-usage.'
'I have said nothing that I have cause to repent of,' answered he; 'and
hope that, when this heat is over, you will do me the justice to think
so too. I leave you to consider it, and bring yourself into a better
humour against my return.' He added no more; but took his hat and sword,
and went out of the room.
She attempted not to call him back; but retired to her chamber, in order
to give a loose to passions more turbulent than she had ever known
before.